**If It Weren’t for You…**
Emily and Sophie had been friends since they were little, attending the same nursery and sharing a desk in school. As they grew older, Emily blossomed into a stunning beauty, effortlessly drawing admirers, while Sophie remained the quiet girl no one glanced at twice in a crowd.
After school, Sophie enrolled in nursing college, passionate about helping others. Emily, convinced diplomas were unnecessary for success, took a beauty course and worked at a salon, shaping brows and tinting lashes.
They were inseparable, chatting daily—mostly Emily talking, Sophie listening, whether comforting her after a breakup or celebrating a new romance.
Then they both fell for the same man.
Sophie met Daniel first. He wasn’t strikingly handsome, just ordinary, the kind she could’ve built a quiet life with. But happiness never comes easy.
Sophie was walking home from the shop after a downpour, dodging puddles, when a guy on an e-scooter hurtled toward her, eyes fixed ahead. At the last second, she yelped and jumped—right into the water.
“Bloody menace!” yelled an old woman nearby, shaking a bony finger. “Nearly ran her over! And now he’s just standing there—”
The guy braked and turned. Sophie clambered onto dry pavement, inspecting her soaked shoes.
“Sorry. Why’d you jump in? I saw you—I’d have swerved.” He rolled closer.
Sophie ignored his apology, eyeing the safest exit from the puddle.
“Hop on. I’ll give you a lift.”
“Leave me alone,” she snapped.
“Already said sorry. Unless you fancy wading? Where to?”
“Ten Churchill Street.”
She gripped the handlebars as the scooter glided off, wind whipping her face. She’d never ridden one before, but with him, it wasn’t scary.
“Which block?” he asked, breath warm against her ear, sending shivers down her neck.
“Third.”
He stopped neatly by the steps, avoiding another puddle.
“Thanks,” Sophie muttered.
Their eyes met—his tanned skin, the grin that made her pulse race.
“Daniel,” he said.
“Sophie.”
“Sorry about earlier. Fancy a film sometime? All my mates are away, and it’s dull going alone.”
She shrugged. “Alright.”
“Tomorrow, seven o’clock, right here.” He zoomed off.
“Why the grin?” her mum asked at home.
“Nothing. Stepped in a puddle.” Sophie locked herself in the bathroom, replaying his smile, skin tingling.
The next evening, she tugged on jeans and trainers, certain he’d arrive on the scooter.
“Where to?” her mum called.
“Movies. With Emily,” she lied.
Daniel wasn’t there when she stepped out. Disappointment burned—until his voice came from behind: “Hey!”
She spun, blushing.
“Come on, starts in twenty.”
The ride was bliss, his chest against her back, heart pounding.
Afterward, they walked home, chatting.
“And who was *that* last night?” Emily rang the next morning. “Spill.”
Sophie nearly panicked. “Mum told you?”
“Relax, she didn’t. So? Who is he?”
Sophie longed to brag. She’d never had a boyfriend, while Emily cycled through men.
“Just some guy,” she said, though to her, he was anything but.
That evening, Daniel waited—no scooter. They wandered until Emily appeared, as if lying in wait.
“Hi!” Emily beamed, eyes locked on Daniel.
He stared back.
Sophie trailed behind, unnoticed.
She stormed home, phone off. Next day, Emily came, apologising, confessing she’d fallen for him…
Sophie couldn’t stay angry. They stayed friends—even after Daniel and Emily married.
Sophie became a nurse; Emily kept working, more for fun than need. Daniel earned well. They celebrated birthdays, New Year’s, barbecues. Sophie hid her growing feelings.
One night, Daniel called, voice broken.
“It’s midnight—I’ve work early!”
“Emily’s gone,” he choked. “We were driving back from the cottage… A tow truck smashed into us. She died instantly.”
Sophie raced to the hospital.
“You won’t be let in at this hour,” her mum yawned.
She grabbed her scrubs, blending in.
Daniel lay tangled in wires, pale in dawn light.
“How are you?”
“Surgery’s done. Can’t feel my legs.” His eyes brimmed with terror. “Should’ve been me.”
“Don’t say that.”
The doctor said recovery was possible—with rehab, massage, hope.
Sophie helped with the funeral, visited daily. Daniel shut her out.
“We can’t keep him here,” the doctor said. “He needs a carer. Expensive, but worth it.”
His mother refused. “We’ll manage.”
Then she hired a young, pretty carer. Jealousy stabbed Sophie. She visited less.
Two weeks later, Daniel’s mum called, trembling.
“The carer robbed us! Took the cash, the jewellery—drugged him and vanished!”
The police couldn’t trace her.
“Daniel’s given up again,” his mum wept. “Talk to him.”
He snarled, “Who’d want me like this?”
“You’re wrong.”
“Pity? I’m done with charity.”
“Emily thought you only asked me out to apologise. Maybe she was right. But I loved it. Loved you. Watched you marry her, cried into my pillow. I’m *not* leaving now.”
She quit her day job, tending him nights. Massages, exercises, relentless hope.
Months later, Daniel stood—briefly, then with crutches.
As he improved, Sophie withdrew. He’d never see her as more than a friend.
Her mum set up disastrous blind dates. Sophie refused them all.
Then, one evening, she burst into the kitchen to scold her mum—and froze.
Daniel sat at the table. He stood awkwardly.
“Sophie. We were just having tea,” her mum said weakly.
“How—?”
“Came to thank you. I’m walking now—slowly.” He pulled out a ring. “Marry me?”
She stared, silent.
“Too late? Is there someone else?”
“I waited so long…”
Two years later, Daniel walked unaided, back at work. Sophie, heavily pregnant, rested at home. He doted on her, buying fruit, insisting on vitamins.
A person can do anything—if someone believes in them.
